


Making Neverland

by bitchslaplouis



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Clubbing, F/M, Louis Tomlinson as Peter Pan, Neverland
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-13 21:58:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5718580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitchslaplouis/pseuds/bitchslaplouis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who doesn't love vomiting in a shitty club with a handsome stranger?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making Neverland

It all started in the toilet.  
Literally. Not like in the room where the porcelain potty was located, but the actual toilet. You had your head in the toilet. Normally, you prided yourself on how well you could hold your alcohol but apparently, tonight, your stomach was rebelling against you. Fucking shitty clubs with the dingy bathrooms and sticky floors meant you were kneeling in what had to be somebody else’s vomit while retching into the stained bowl. The music blasted back up as someone came into the bathroom and started banging on the stall door.  
“Use the other one!” You yelled, your throat dry and scratchy.  
“You tossing?” A scratchy but pleasant deeply accented voice asked, still pounding on the stall door. Giving the best possible answer, you threw up again. Fucking shitty clubs with their cheap metal doors and broken latches… A thin, lithe man stepped over you and sat down on the creaky tank of the toilet, looking at you with an expression of simple curiosity.  
“What the fuck?” You muttered, resting your cheek on the side of the seat and looking up at him through hooded eyes. He leaned forward, spreading his legs in their skin tight jeans and hanging his hands loosely between them. You were about to challenge him when you felt the puke rising again and bent your head back over the bowl. His hands snared into your hair, pulling it away from the pukey water and back behind your head.  
“Okay?” He asked as you leaned back and he let your hair loose.  
“Who the fuck are you?” You croaked, lifting your head fully and examining him. There was something Peter Pan-like about him, from his soft, flipped hair to his bright, dancing blue eyes. He smiled too wide with his mouth open and his cheeks dimpling and you felt a weird rising in your chest that was kind of like nausea but not as painful.  
“You’re fucking wrecked,” he said cheerfully, relaxing back onto the tank.  
“What’s your deal?” You demanded, your voice not coming out nearly as angry as you intended it to.  
“Oh, I’m high as a fucking kite right now, mate,” He said, laughing. You looked closer at him, finally seeing his bloodshot eyes and beginning to laugh yourself. “Want some?” He asked, grinning lazily at you.  
“What? No?” You were already vomiting excessively; getting stoned didn’t seem like the best idea.  
“No, some of this.” He handed you a half empty bottle of water. You looked at it suspiciously.  
“I don’t even know you?” Sure, you were going to take an open water bottle from some guy who crawled over you in a fucking shitty club’s nasty bathroom. He held eye contact with you for a moment while you deliberated but you finally decided hey, fuck it, how much worse could it get? He took a swig of the water before passing it to you so it obviously wasn’t roofied… You used the water to rinse the vomit out of your mouth.  
“Better?” He took the bottle back and finished it, crumpling it up and smiling at you.  
“Who are you?” You asked again, finally having the strength to sit up and lean against the stall door. He leaned back too, giving you a lazy smile.  
“Louis. You done?”  
“Puking? Yeah, I think so.” Louis stood and, straddling the toilet, pulled you to your feet. Standing nearly pressed to his chest in the tiny stall, something strange occurred to you.  
“What the fuck are you doing in the women’s bathroom?” You asked, pushing away from him as far as you could. Leaving the stall did not occur to you. Mainly because you were super fucking drunk but also because of those goddamn oceanic eyes.  
“Good place to meet people,” he answered, flicking up one thin eyebrow. How did he get his eyebrows so clean and shaped so well? They were better than yours. His response didn’t make any sense though; however, drunk you wasn’t all that concerned. Why shouldn’t a gorgeous man be making new friends in the women’s bathroom of a fucking shitty club? “Coming with me?”  
“To where?” You asked.  
“Neverland, of course!” He cried, pushing you up against the door, one hand latching onto your waist and the other planting on the door behind you. In shock, you let him touch you, unsure and still quite a bit unsteady. Suddenly, the door flung up and he spun you, around, disorienting you for just long enough that he could run around, catch the main door, and take hold of your hand, laughing.  
“What?” You asked, completely lost.  
“Oh come on, I’m not mad.” He chuckled, pulling you out into the louder hallway. “And we’re much too old for fairy tales.” He entwined both of your hands in his, pushing your arms out and bending to place his forehead against yours. He started deeply into your eyes, that blue shocking you like an electric pulse, captivating you. In that state of mind, with your inhibitions lowered and your thoughts strangely at ease, you realized you’d follow this boy anywhere, no matter how crazy it seemed. With a mirthful laugh, he pushed closer, his lips only a hair’s breadth away, and murmured, “We’ve got to make our own Neverlands.”


End file.
